Saturday, August 19, 2006

Weekend Reality Check

There has been much waxing poetical'round here recently, and much deep thinking inspired by motherhood. One might think that the Bad Mother household was a haven of blithe domesticity, a tranquil domain wherein mother wiles away the hours in cuddle and play with an angelic baby, pausing only to reflect upon the sweetness of maternal love.

One would be mistaken.

WonderBaby is a lovely, lovely child. I adore her. But she is not remotely angelic, unless we understand 'angelic' in the strict Old Testament sense of mighty and punitive and very often bearing ancient weapons of mass destruction.

It may not LOOK like a flaming sword, but trust me. It's an ancient weapon of mass destruction. You do not want it in your home.

She capable of the greatest sweetness, but she is heaven-bent on destroying me. Every exercise of our day involves a mighty struggle, an intense battle of wills that I, inevitably, lose.

To wit: the thrice-daily Battle of the High Chair. WonderBaby has decided that high chairs are for chumps. WonderBaby has decided that she, mighty being that she is, should not be restrained in a high chair. WonderBaby has decided that, should she deign to eat, she should not be expected to do it in such ignominious conditions.

She has further decided that she should not be expected to do so while fully clothed.

So, last night, WonderBaby took her evening meal while standing, facing backward, in her high chair.

Starkers.

While I crouched on the floor behind the chair, plying her with toast and yogourt.

(No, there is no picture. My nine-month old baby was balancing naked, on two sturdy but nonetheless unreliable baby legs, in an assembly line high chair. You want that I should have run for the camera?)

(Fine. I was tempted. But I resisted.)

I think that we can safely say that it is now official: I am her bitch.

Guided by the not-so-benelovent spirit of Michael Landon,* WonderBaby's quest for world domination proceeds apace...

I don't know where to start, I'm laughing so hard that I have tears coming down the cheeks - big fat tears like the ones Bumper had during her meltdown during our coffee time the other day.

You know that I know what you are talking about. WB seems to be the only worthy playmate - strike that - opponent for Bumper's Mexican wrestling moves. If only we had the video on them. Next time, next time.

We gave up on our highchair!Matt hated it. And now, at 2, he has a strange fascination with them and it is our bribery tool at restaurants.I heard the other day that the strongest willed children end up being the easiest teenagers. So, in like 13 years the battles will totally be worth it :)

Yeah, we moved into a booster that had all the mama-soothing frills of seatbelt and tray, but felt oh-so-big for a good length of time, perched as it is on a regular chair.

Just this week this has now given way to using a grownup chair, with much exhortation about what a good job she is doing and how she must continue to do so should she not want to return to high-chair hell. So far, so good. We'll see.

She totally sucked Misterpie in this morning, though. Apparently he was too out of it to resist the siren song and let her go back to sleep. Fool.

My kids have a way of driving me crazy most of the time. But sometimes I just stop and watch and am truly amazed at their steadfast determination to only do what they want. I have had moments with our youngest where she refused to sit in her chair and eat. She preferred to stand, but hey it got her to eat which for a toddler is a good thing.

What if you wore a likeness of Michael Landon as a mask? Would that make her sit in her chair and take notice? She might not eat her food but she'd probably be stunned into sitting by the beauty that was Pa Ingalls.

HA! Kaitlyn has decided that she has better things to do than lay still on the changing table, like twist and writhe and grab onto the railing and try to chew it. I've given up, and now change her on the living room floor. It's a battle I just won't win.

There truly is nothing like eating naked. Though one must watch with whom they eat in such arrangements. If the nakedness is not that of a spouse or child, loss of appetite can be a side effect.

Just kiddin'. We don't eat nekkid in my house. Just the boy, sometimes. But he's a prude and gets mad if we de-clothe him for any reason other than bathtime. Yesterday, I took his shirt off at a haircut place because he refuses to wear the cape. Shirtless, he's easier to clean up. Maybe it's because it was public that he got so mad that I took his shirt off.

But then again, when we're in public and someone he doesn't know is making googly eyes at him, his shy reaction is to lift his shirt and show off his belly. Hey, to him it makes sense.

It's so funny that you wrote about this now. I feel like the monkey's bitch, totally. And, like your situation, my prime bitch moment revolves around the damn high chair. Queen Monkey sits on high flinging her food everywhere, throwing her sippy cup so vigorously that its contents spill all over my floor. I, meanwhile, am on hands and knees, picking up the food, wiping up the mild. I am undoubetedly her Bitch. Capital B. Oh, this is the stuff of a new post (perhaps tomorrow)...I need to VENT! ;)

My computer just did that thing again where it makes all my favorite blogs look like they haven't been updated in days and then finally, BOOM! I have a week's worth of stuff to read. I've got a little catching up to do around here, but wanted to pop my head up to say that the image of WonderBaby dining on her feet, backward, and naked is enough to get me through anything today, including the First Day of School and the remnants of Gastrointestinal Hell.

And to remind me of the virtues of hitting "refresh" every now and again. Gah.

Wow... Ubergoober is much the same way. I was convinced before he could talk that he was plotting world domination, much like Stuie on Family Guy. Yep... you're her bitch, as all we are. But she sure is cute!

Oh honey, that is frickin hysterical!! I love this: But she is not remotely angelic, unless we understand 'angelic' in the strict Old Testament sense of mighty and punitive and very often bearing ancient weapons of mass destruction.

But you do need to remember to have a camera ready at ALL times. Life with children is about pictures to blog not safety. Jeeeez! You should know better!

Ours prefers his nekkid time after bath time. We spend quite awhile coaxing him into jammies. As for the high chair, he didn't hate it but he's never been much of an eater. We spend our evenings asking hi if'll eat x, y, or z and he says "NO!" Then a few minutes later demands that we feed him "y", as if we've been slacking around long enough. He has a rather imperious air about him then.